


A Knight In Shining Armor

by thesaddestboner



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Crack, Detroit Tigers, Gen, Heterochromia, Knights - Freeform, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>When Phil dreamt about a knight in shining armor he was kind of picturing something less, you know,</i> literal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Knight In Shining Armor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [becausemagnets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/becausemagnets/gifts).



> Most likely historically inaccurate. Also, most likely the German is terrible.
> 
> Written for [**drummergroupie**](http://drummergroupie.livejournal.com/) for a meme request on my LJ a while ago.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

When Phil dreamt about a knight in shining armor he was kind of picturing something less, you know, _literal_. Actually, he’d mostly pictured a lady knight, a dame or whatever they were called, until he realized in junior college that he preferred guys.

But, anyways, there’s a dude in chain mail—with a fucking sword and everything!—standing in his living room and Phil is _so_ not equipped to deal with this.

“Who are you?” Phil asks for what seems like the millionth time.

“ _Ich heiße Maximilian_.” He puts a gloved hand on the hilt of his gleaming, very sharp, very _dangerous_ looking sword.

Phil swallows nervously. The palms of his hands are clammy with sweat and he wipes them on his blue jeans. “Please don’t kill me.”

Phil is _thisclose_ to getting on his knees and groveling for his life, and he _doesn’t grovel_. It’s just when you’re faced with your potential untimely demise, you start thinking crazy shit.

Suddenly, Phil can’t remember for sure if he’s wearing a fresh pair of boxers. He doesn’t even have a will.

The knight raises the visor of his helmet to squint at him, and Phil can see that his eyes are two different colors. Freaky. Of course he’d get the German knight with the creepy eyes and the big-ass sword that definitely looks like it has blood caked in the handle and not fucking _Fabio_ oiled up and sitting on a horse, or whatever.

Maximilian—henceforth referred to in Phil’s head as Max—smiles at him, but it doesn’t make Phil feel any better. He could slice Phil to ribbons with mere flicks of his wrist if he wanted to. And he’d probably do it with that smile on his face, too. “ _Ich werde dich nicht verletzen._ ”

“Oh, that’s reassuring,” Phil quips. He has no idea what the hell the guy just said.

“ _Ich habe Durst. Kann ich etwas Wasser bitte?_ ”

“Wasser . . . Water?” Phil pantomimes drinking from a glass and the guy nods, smiling some more. “Okay, sure. I’ll be right back. Don’t, uh, filet anything while I’m gone.” Phil points to the sword.

Max just shrugs.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
